


in her honor

by seventhe



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/M, Implied Incest, Multi, Polyamory, thrincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/pseuds/seventhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's just her, and Snow, and a thousand moments strung together like lights on a string. And Serah. </i> </p><p>Lightning, Snow, and Serah come to an understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in her honor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/gifts).



> This is FFXIII-canon-compliant only.

"Come by for dinner," Serah asks her that morning on the phone – _tells_ her, really, as if Lightning is going to say no to anything Serah asks, _ever again;_ "It'll be ready when you're off of work." _Work,_ like it's a real job she goes to, helping to clear fiends out of the long string of caves and caverns so that refugees have somewhere safe to sleep; but Lightning just snorts, a little, and says, "Sure." It's as much of a job as anything is; she and Sazh had started it accidentally, really, because after enough days in a row of trudging into the nearest wilderness with blades drawn and pistols smoking it must have looked like they knew what they were doing (which, even after depending on l'Cie powers for so long, they actually did; Lightning will never quite stop being surprised at how easily she stopped wanting to cast Thundaga) because other people joined in. Not everyone had her speed or Sazh's aim, but as it turns out, a Cocoon refugee who wants a safe place to sleep doesn't have to be a crack shot to be ferociously effective with a gun, or a knife, or even a shovel if that's all they have. She and Sazh have separate squads now; she's in the caves, clearing out storage space, while Sazh's team fans further and further into the fields, burning nests and relocating beasts to make their settlement a tiny bit safer every day. It isn't a job – there are no benefits, no paychecks – but the people they've settled with share what they have, as a payment for the service. As long as Serah's happy and everyone's safe, Lightning doesn't really care.

So when the sun is touching the horizon, lightning up the fringes of Pulse in gold and silver as it refracts through the crystal column, Lightning folds up her sword and waves goodbye to Sazh (and Dajh, who is learning to shoot a very small and mostly harmless gun himself, because they live on Pulse now and Sazh isn't an idiot) and heads off down the path to the house Serah and Snow share on the rickety bicycle she'd named _Odin_ in a strange moment of fancy. The house isn't hers; she has a small room in a larger dwelling, almost like one of the dormitories the Corps offered, because it's closer to the edges of their little civilization and she's found – ironically – that she sleeps better when she and her gunblade are in-between her family and the wilderness. Serah wanted her to stay, but Snow did too, and that's why she had to put a few steps between them: she can't look Snow in the face anymore without wondering whether the want is as blatant in her eyes as it feels. It's complicated, and Lightning likes the way Serah smiles when Snow looks at her, and this is just the safest way.

Lightning parks the bike alongside the small house, and knocks. There's some shuffling inside, and the sound of some clattering, and then Snow opens the door. His face still lights up when he sees her and Lightning is struck with the strange urge to punch him, again, because he's an idiot who wears all of his emotions bold on his skin like he did his brand and if he thinks Serah won't see it just because she isn't looking he doesn't deserve her after all. But it also makes her want to touch him, again, which is surprising because the only reason they ever started touching in the first place was to remember Serah, and Serah's standing right behind Snow with a smile on her face Lightning can't really read but wants to, for some unknown reason, label as _smug._ It looks good on her, but everything looks good on Serah, except tears.

"Hi," she says.

 "Come on in," Serah says, and she tugs Snow out of the doorway, somehow, tiny fingers plucking at the fabric of his shirt. Snow _dwarfs_ Serah, always has, and yet she can fling him around with ease and a flutter of her lashes. Lightning steps inside. Their house is charmingly full of clutter from Pulse: wildflowers, twists of wood, interestingly striped stones, a pile of old rusting gearwork in the corner. Lightning never would have guessed her sister to be such a _hoarder,_ but Serah has been full of a strange wonder with regards to everything Pulse-related and the house seeps charm like a sun-heated stone around the piles of rocks and branches. There are three glasses of wine sitting out on the table she and Snow shaped for Serah out of old metal and wood, and Lightning blinks, because she hadn't thought it was any kind of special occasion.

"Go on," Serah says, and she must be laughing at Lightning's face because nothing else is funny – that, or it's the joy Serah seems to carry around in her tiny frame. "Sit down, relax, have a drink. I'll be right out."

Lightning pulls out the nearest chair, checks that its rickety legs will – hopefully – hold together for another few hours, and sinks down. To her surprise, Serah shoos Snow into the seat across from her and darts around the corner, where their cooking-pit is. Snow looks happily confused. Lightning swirls the wine around in the glass, takes a tentative sip.  "Is there some occasion I'm forgetting?" she asks Snow, her voice low but warm.

He laughs, bluster and genuine amusement. "She's happy," he says with a shrug, reaching for his own glass.  His eyes turn pensive as he looks at the wine, and then back up. "She's happy," he repeats, as if she doesn't believe him.

But she does; Serah's happiness is so tangible she could plant seeds in it and grow mountains. "She is," Lightning agrees, softly, and their eyes meet for a brief razor-sharp second. It's almost like punching all the air out of her stomach, the thrill of it. Sometimes Lightning thinks she should feel more guilty about what happened between her and Snow, and she isn't sure why she doesn't; maybe it's because they've been so good at not thinking about it, at pretending that it was all part of the magic: l'Cie smoke and mirrors. Maybe it was because it had all been _for_ Serah, in a way she won't pretend makes any sense: his lips on her skin, murmuring both names in an endless litany; her own fingers, tracing the man her sister loved, whispering her own sister's name like she was trying to find Serah _in_ Snow, somewhere. And Serah had been there, between them, every single time. Sometimes she thinks that should make her feel worse, not better.

Lightning sips at her wine again and the lightning-bolt-feeling subsides. It's just her, and Snow, and a thousand moments strung together like lights on a string. And Serah.

Her sister emerges from the cooking corner carrying a tray: flatbread, and fruit, and oil with herbs and spices in it. Serah sets it down and laughs, gesturing, while she picks up her own glass and drinks. It all smells fresh and wild in a way Lightning doesn't remember from Cocoon's wares – Pulse food is neither as refined nor as perfected, but there's something simple and natural about Serah making bread with her own hands that still makes Lightning catch her breath every time she tastes it on her tongue. She isn't sure where the wine came from; maybe one of the cargo runs from Cocoon delivered to their little market while she was working today. She isn't sure it matters.

She watches Serah build a towering sandwich for Snow, who's laughing at her – flatbread, dipped in oil, topped with cheese and one of the little red fruits – and feels an odd ache; she isn't sure that it's jealousy, because jealousy has a cruel edge like a sword-blade: maybe envy, which is gentler, or maybe just a strange mix of appreciation and love so strong it hurts a little. She's happy – she thinks – just maybe not _completely_ happy. Instead she dips a piece of Serah's bread into the spiced oil and chases it with the wine.

When she looks up, Serah's watching her, and Lightning swallows involuntarily: sharp spice and the burn of alcohol in her throat, and it's a warning except that Serah's smiling, smiling so that she's fit to burst.

"What," says Lightning, not really _wary_ so much as – embarrassed? She feels strangely caught out by the look in Serah's eyes; it's that same satisfied telling look she was wearing before, as if she's reading a confirmation writ across Lightning's brow. It's an uncomfortable feeling, as if Serah's carrying secrets of _hers_ , locked behind her eyes.

Serah laughs – bells and crystal – and she sets down her wine glass and reaches over to take Lightning's hand. "I've been thinking," Serah says – and then she reaches out, and takes Snow's hand, and brings them together over the table. Serah presses their hands together, palm to palm, and Snow's fingers interlace with hers almost immediately, automatically.

Lightning freezes, but not fast enough, and Serah's laugh is gentle this time as her thumb strokes Lightning's fingers, calm and soft, before she lets go.

"It's okay," Serah says, her voice gentle. "I just think we should talk about it a little. I know – or I'm pretty sure I know."

Lightning stares at her sister first, but then her gaze is drawn to Snow's like a magnet: their eyes meet and she can taste the breath Snow inhales, sharp and cold, and _intense._ Her heart feels like it's stuck in her throat, and she's surprised she can breathe around it: it's only the warmth of Serah's smile that's keeping her breath going, keeping her heart beating through her chest.

She wonders what she should say: that she and Snow hadn't meant for any of it to happen, but once it had, it had all happened in Serah's honor? That Lightning had been trying to get closer to her sister, to understand what it was about Snow that compelled such feelings and devotion in Serah; that she'd found beneath the heroic bluster a man worth touching, worth feeling, worth loving? That Snow had at first only wanted to show Lightning that his feelings were real, that his mourning was genuine; that he'd opened a door, a bridge, and found another heart that loved his Serah the same way he did? That is was more than physical: every breath had been tears, every gasp a sob, every stroke and touch a litany? That she'd been between them the whole time, a presence almost as tangible as they – and Lightning's eyes fly back to Serah. Serah tilts her head, and smiles.

"It's complicated," Lightning says, at the same time Snow mutters, "This is hard."

"Maybe it should be," Serah says slowly, and she brings her fingers up to rest on the backs of their clasped hands.  Slowly her hands wrap around theirs, holding them together. Lightning lets her fingers relax, entwined with Snow's; Serah's hands are warm and so small. "But it's surprisingly easy. The hardest part has been – maybe this will surprise you, but once I figured it out, the hardest part has been watching you two keep your distance." Serah sighs. "I don't want you apart," she says, "I want you together."

"Sweetheart," Snow starts, and his eyes flicker between Serah, Lightning, the clasped hands on the table.

"It's better if none of us get hurt," Lightning says, and she makes to pull her hand away – but Serah's soft palms are suddenly strong, and she catches Lightning's hand mid-motion and presses it back into the cluster of hot nerves and smooth skin.

"Does it really hurt," Serah asks, her voice soft and bright as candle-flame, "to love someone so much it burns? To – to want something so much it aches?" And Lightning thinks maybe it isn't envy she feels, after all. "It might hurt, in a way," Serah says quietly, so quiet, "but I wouldn't call this pain."

"Not yet," Lightning says, and again she tries to tug her hand out from the exquisite tenderness of Serah and Snow. It's too much: too fresh, the taste of bread fresh from the oven and the ground, and sharp besides. It isn't an option; there are no options.

But Serah's hands are unyielding. "You're scared," she says, and Lightning shakes her head in strong denial. "You _are_ scared," Serah continues, "because the only thing you've ever been afraid of is me, Light. Scared _for_ me is the same thing. It means it's hard for you to trust me. But this is…" Suddenly the air lights up with Serah's smile, sun through crystal. "When I realized it, something – clicked, or closed, like a button in a hole."

She takes a breath, and murmurs, "I want you together. I want you _with_ me. I think – I think I always have."

No one has moved but suddenly everywhere their hands are touching seems alight with fire, and Lightning feels something catch in her breast, low but burning. "Sweetheart," Snow says again, and in his voice is a breathy intensity Lightning only remembers from their nights together. "Is this what you want?"

"What," Serah says, tilting her head again, and her voice is suddenly as playful as it is honest; her lips quirk into a smile. "To watch the two people who own my heart come to understand their own?" She shrugs, and it's both innocent and not, because Serah was l'Cie too. "Why would I want to keep both of you to myself when we could all have each other? Is it so hard to believe that it makes me happy?"

And it isn't, really, not when she says it like that and everything in-between them lights up like a string of lights; all Lightning has wanted, her whole life, was to make Serah happy and keep Serah safe: it's always been Serah. And it's easy, now, to follow Serah's lead, to let those tiny fingers pull her upwards until she's standing, cradling Serah in her arms. Serah's head comes to rest in the space between her neck and shoulder and Lightning breathes in, wrapping her arms around her sister tightly, because they almost didn't have any of this at all and now she suddenly has more than she'd ever expected. "It's okay," Lightning whispers, and she has no idea who she's talking to. She may just be saying it out loud so that _she'll_ believe it.

Snow is standing behind Serah and the look on his face is so tender and open Lightning almost can't look at it – and then he steps forwards, and his fingers are on her cheek, and Lightning lifts her face gladly. Her arms tighten around Serah as Snow kisses her: slow but deep, rumbling like thunder and carrying intensity and promise. Snow's lips are insistent, and heavy, and there isn't a shred of doubt in this; Lightning sucks at his lower lip, because he isn't allowed to get the upper hand, and Snow makes that noise she remembers that's half-laugh and half-groan, the one that sends fire down her spine. His fingers tighten in her hair, and he tilts her head back; she lets him, trying not to make a noise of her own, because she always said _yes,_ eventually.

And it's just like before, because Serah's between them: only better, because she's really there.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DOINK! Chocobo Races 2012, for Rare Character / Rare Relationship Month. For the prompt:
> 
> _Snow/Serah/Lightning, post-game, working out a poly relationship. I feel like the conversation Snow and Lightning have in the 'Speaking with Serah' section of Ch. 11 *totally* sets up this possibility, and I want to see that explored further. How do they move from the really traditional let's-get-married model Snow expects into something more unusual? Did Lightning and Serah have something physical before? How do they make it work? Rating is up to your comfort level; I'd be happy with porn but I'd be happy without it, too. Some art thoughts, since that was all pretty story-heavy: exploring together on Pulse, or having a picnic? Setting up house or sharing a meal? Everyone in bed together?_
> 
> This prompt actually pinged me pretty hard; this work is a very short exploration of something I would honestly like to devote 20,000 words to in the future, but didn't have time to delve into for this month's challenge. I love the questions posed in the prompt and I hope to elaborate on them more, once I get the time. (Laylah, I realize this is an old prompt, but it spoke to me, so I hope you don't mind my jumping on it!)


End file.
